mrs man
by smartalker
Summary: Because writing your best friend as a girl and then adding yourself to the story is perfectly normal. Seriously. — JutaAsuka


**Entitled**: Mrs. Man  
**Fandom**: Otomen  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Otomen and etc.  
**Dedication**: For comrade Ruby! Happy aging day!  
**Notes**: I actually didn't really like the manga, so this is based off the first five chapters. I feel like I've failed some sort of test.

* * *

The character had all the necessary ingredients. Handsome, tall, a fast talker and a fast lover. A perfect pseudo-threat towards the tentative love that had sprung between characters A and B.

And yet.

There was something sort of—well, sort of _familiar_ about that guy. In fact, if it weren't for the bowl cut and glittery eyes, the editor could almost see Juta-kun.

He reached for his phone, and on the second ring Juta picked up, his background filled with high giggles and a wet, sucking sound. The editor rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, waiting until Juta's voice grew less distant and teasing, suddenly right up against his ear. "Yeah?"

Brat. "Juta-kun, this is crap," the editor said, as delicately as possible. He imagined that the beat of silence he received was the result of Juta's heart attack. Artists, really. All so _dramatic_.

"Crap?" Juta squeaked, "_Crap_?!"

"It's a self insert," the editor growled, "It's just you with your ideal girl. And, frankly, she's getting a bit dull."

"He is _not_!" Juta wailed. The background voices on his end were whispering in perfect scandal. The editor rolled his eyes.

"Of course he is, you tit, his name is just yours spelled backwards!"

"Oh, well, yeah," Juta stammered, "I mean, I know he's—but my heroine is _not_ boring!"

"Your ratings are plunging," the editor pointed out. There was a brief bout of indignant squawking, and the editor studied the ceiling in a long-suffering sort of way.

After a couple minutes of hysterics, Juta managed to pull himself together long enough to snarl death threats into the phone. The editor was impressed. It had only taken him about half the time usually required.

"—rip off your nipples and jam 'em up your nose and—"

"Pleasant," the editor commented. He could have been discussing lint or the weather, for all the enthusiasm he managed to put into the word. "Fine, do something about it."

And then, quite satisfied with himself, he hung up.

* * *

Juta spent the next few days in a state of deep mourning. His career was shot. His name tarnished. His respect spat upon. His heroine declared predictable.

There was really no helping him.

"Hello?" Asuka tapped on Juta's door with a slight, almost girlish knock. Juta rustled from deep within his lair of misery and woe. "Juta?" Asuka repeated. He sounded annoyed, now, though not enough to hide the blatant concern skipping into his tone. Juta rolled around on the floor in a fit of ecstasy.

"A-Asuka?" he wailed, "Is it you?"

There was a long, rather nervous pause, "Yes?" Asuka answered. Juta had no doubt that were it possible, he would have checked his name tag.

"J-just a minute," Juta wheezed. He threw in a good hacking cough for dramatic effect, so poorly executed that even Santa would have raised his eyebrows in suspicion. When he opened the door, however, Asuka's eyes looked a little wet. He dabbed at them immediately and did his best to look stern and commanding.

"Ryo was worried about you," he announced with an overabundance of gruffness. Juta did not roll his eyes. It was an action of impressive restraint, on his part. Then he looked down and immediately maxxed out his pathetic sniffles.

Asuka's hands, which had initially cradled the perfect thermos of soup, tightened slightly. His eyes grew round, and he started at Juta earnestly, "How are you feeling?" he asked, now softly.

Juta fell over with a hand fluttering to his grow. Asuka caught him before he hit the ground, and only spilled the soup a little bit. It was very manly. Juta would have swooned had he not done so about half a second earlier.

"I…" Juta invented some trembles, "I feel faint."

"I understand," Asuka nodded firmly, and carried Juta back into his Den of Woe with infinite care. He left Juta only to reheat the soup. And then to clean his apartment, which meant he had to do the laundry as well, and of course the dishes, and it wasn't as though the plants were going to water _themselves_, so—

"Anything new happening at school?" Juta asked tremulously, once he'd gotten bored of being unconscious. Asuka shrugged slightly.

"Ryo and I have been taking notes for you. You needent concern yourself with such affairs in your delicate condition. Don't worry. I'll help you catch up."

Juta had to remind himself that invalids did not typically sweep across the room and sexually assault their pseudo-nurses. Though there probably was a disease like that. He just had to find out what it was.

"—new development," Asuka finished. Juta blinked, completely unaware of what Asuka had just said. He wondered if another fainting spell was called for.

"I—what are you saying? I can't hear you…" he moaned a little. Asuka was instantly at his side and checking his pulse. He nodded slowly.

"You are a little warm."

"Please—what did you say?" Juta found Asuka's gaze and held it, staring for so long that Asuka's face grew steadily pinker.

Asuka coughed. "I. I said that there's a new character in Love Chick. He's threatening the dynamic. It's an interesting new development." He nodded earnestly. Juta was oddly comforted. Asuka thought his comics were the bible. And so therefore they were. It was just that simple.

"Are you rooting for him?"

Asuka sat up to vibrating straightness, "Of course not! He cannot tarnish true love! It shall continue forever!" he nodded, eyes shining.

Juta smacked his head back into his pillow and moaned.


End file.
